Puptue's companion, an up-and-coming young mayor from a burb town, tittered appreciatively. But Bob Slotsky barely broke lurch as he headed for the bar. Slaugerton cop Mike Testirolla was tending. His brother Tony was Brew Barn owner of record. Sal "Coochi-Coo" Adobo was behind that record. Though a subject of perpetual federal interest Coochi-Coo had no record. But he did have a whole lot of HUD bucked property in Slaugerton's revitalized downtown. Including a piece of almost every bar on the strip known in college student circles as "Pukeland". Over the years, Mike Testirolla had moonlighted in most of Coochi-Coo's bars: he knew the tastes of Slaugerton's pols & players. Without saying a word he hit Bob Slotsky with Bushmill and Bud.

Slotsky tossed back. Testirolla refilled. After half a dozen Slotsky was feeling revitalized. And started eye-balling the woman on the next stool. She looked young. But not college girl. Her clothes screamed government office. Slaugerton was the county seat: its bars got the public servant trade. As well as the student crowd from New Jorksacutt State U and the Catholic college of St. Coochi-Coo. Which had changed its name from St. Mary's after receiving an awesome endowment.

Slotsky put his hand in his pocket. Feeling for the vial of date rape drug he always carried in case he got lucky. Damn. Had it fallen out when he got dumped in the dump? No-- there it was. He wrapped his fingers around it. Confidently, he leaned toward Miss Government Office.

"Hiya beautiful - come here often?"

"Maybe too often" came the answer.

When Rep. Puptue said Slotsky looked like shhhhht he hadn't been just slurring Dixie. It wasn't only the torn clothes and stab wounds. Bits of dump debris dangled from Slotsky's slip-sliding rug. Beneath a 5 o'clock shadow his face was zombie white. His deodorant had given up ages ago.

But Slotsky was a legendary deal maker. After he dropped a few names of good buddy mega pols, the local police chief and some pocket pal into her drink, Miss Government Office started coming around. Her name was Tanitha and she worked in the office of Slotsky's oldest and dearest: County Executive Frank Tusk. Slotsky and Tusk had been frat brothers at St. Coochi-Coo. Back when it was still St. Mary's.

"So baby," Slotsky put his hand on Tanitha's knee, "what say we blow this joint."

Despite her befuddlement, Tanitha shuddered. Slotsky's fingers felt like a clump of cocktail wieners from a long gone political fundraiser. Desperately seeking Dutch courage she took a gulp of her Cocotini. And tried stalling for time.

"Lemme visit the lady's room firse honey."

Slotsky wasn't buying it. He knew the bathroom had a window.

"You can use the can at my place" he said and stood up. He tossed a C-note at Testirolla. With a vice grip on Tanitha, Slotsky headed for the door. Where he collided with Frank Tusk.

"Jeez Bob" said Tusk "You look like death warmed over."

"You don't know the half of it" said Slotsky. He parked the now sleeping Tanitha in a nearby banquette and proceeded to tell Tusk how Slaugerton Mayor Terry McConn and local development lovely Lara Tremor had murdered him-- then dumped his "body" at the Peanut King Waste Transfer Station.

Tusk was steamed. Bob was his boy. Plus Tusk had brought home the federal and state bacon for the facility. And used his clout to steamroll opposition to its location. "It's like they crapped where I sleep" he fumed.

Slotsky, who hadn't mentioned that McConn and Tremor had spotted an FBI bug taped to his chest, nodded piously. "You know the saying-- no good deed goes unpunished."

"I saw McConn's car parked at the Peanut King Motel on the way over" said Tusk "The two of 'em are probably shacked up right now in that brand new HUD tub."

An idea struck Tusk. He took his cell phone from his jacket and passed it to Slotsky. "Why don't you give 'em a little wake-up call" he said. Slotsky snickered. He and Tusk always enjoyed pulling fast ones on McConn. Who'd been behind them at St. Coochi-Coo. Back when it was still St. Mary's.

Slotsky speed dialed Lara's cell. After a few rings she answered. The hot tub whirred and gushed in the background. "Hello?" she said. Bob kept mum. Just breathed heavy. "Hell-O?" Lara's voice started sounding snippy. Like it did when she told old people their homes were being slated for eminent domain.

"Laaaarrrraa? Itssss Bob.."

Behind him, Tusk smothered a laugh.

To be continued...

Carola Von Hoffmannstahl-Solomonoff

"Even imperfection itself may have its ideal or perfect state."

Thomas De Quincy, 1827

Episodes of Revitalization, My Lovely

Send comments or confidential tips to:

mailto:editor@mondoqt.com